


Anaplasia

by LimonadeGaby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Fallen!Castiel, Hand Jobs, Human!Castiel - Freeform, M/M, Set after season 8 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:18:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LimonadeGaby/pseuds/LimonadeGaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freshly fallen Castiel struggles with coming to terms with his humanity, filled with the fear that if he gives in he might truly lose himself. He maintains a journal with his observations and the confusing feelings that Dean inspires within him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anaplasia

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to Jen ( Riseofthefallenone ) for helping me with my first Fic, you don't even want to know what it may have looked like without her, she my taste au sucre that made this entire story possible! I hope you enjoy it! Do tell me your impression and critics. Many thanks for reading!

**Anaplasia:** _Refers to a reversion of differentiation in cells . Sometimes, the term also includes an increased capacity for multiplication. The term anaplasia literally means "to form backward"._

  
  


**Entry n. 45**

**Date:** xx.xx 2013

 **Location :** Men of Letters’ bunker

 **Hour:** 8h45 a.m

As an angel, there is no “down time”, no moment of respite where we close our eyes and lose touch with reality. Moments where time flies by but the mind does not follow isn’t something I’m very familiar with. I suppose I could count the times where I was almost human some years ago or when I was Emmanuel, but the human brain has this capacity to lessen the details of such events with each day that passes.

Everything becomes more blurry, less detailed... less everything. It restructures its memories in order of emotional importance. Considering my... past as an Angel, emotional importance has a whole different meaning and thus it seems like Jimmy’s brain does not know which way to go...

As of yet, sleep is the aspect of humanity I am most familiar with, though that does not lessen the fears it brings up from deep within me. It’s one thing to be wounded and thus needing to recover, but actually sleeping because of _human_ needs...

I refuse to. I’m stronger than this, I need to be stronger than this.

Metatron has to pay and it isn’t by lying around in some bed that I shall achieve anything. Can I even do anything? I tried using some kind of power - from telepathy to pyrokinesis - all of it in vain. Dean was watching my attempts with an expression that I do not like to see on his face... _Pity._

I told myself that if the Winchesters can prevent an Apocalypse, defeat Lucifer, Leviathans, Angels and Demons alike without any special abilities, then I don’t see how the rules can’t be carried over to my situation.

Metatron’s strength may remain unknown, but I highly doubt that it surpasses Michael or Lucifer. As he previously said, he got the brain and the Archangels/Seraphim got the muscles. My strength has been stripped of me and I am left with nothing but my smarts. I need to apply that to figuring out a method to defeat Metatron.

Where to start...

-Castiel

****

**Entry n.56**

**Date:** xx.xx 2013

 **Location:** Men of Letters’ bunker

 **Hour:** 13h27 p.m

As much as the gesture was appreciated, I never should have drank that coffee Dean made me...

It was a delicious Jamaican Blue Mountain Coffee (I have yet to discover how he affords this...) and there was no word for how pleasant it felt on the tongue. But it was the aftermath, the effect, that made me regret the whole thing. As an angel, coffee just tastes nice; it’s warm, bitter, and that’s the end of it. As a human though:  the cardiovascular system gets overstimulated, blood pressure increases and, sure, it removes the intolerable tiredness that wracks my body... but it also forces the bladder that is now my own to do what it was made to do...

I wouldn’t say I was avoiding using the bathroom at all costs... but the term could be apparent to that. I was accumulating trash inside my body that needed to be evacuated. The notion was both repulsive and frightening and the toilet bowl seemed to stare at me like it was mocking me. I guess it’s a sign that my brain isn’t what it used to be when a toilet bowl can seem like it’s making fun of something...

I have yet to comprehend the effect that lack of sleep can bring.

The water was slightly swirling inside the bowl, a sign that Sam probably used it just before me. The look Dean sent me when I was walking toward the bathroom was telling me he knew exactly where I was going and what will happen inside it.  He seemed just as scared for me as I was; and whether or not I should be glad he understood wasn't relevant as I stared at that smelly water.

I shouldn’t have to do this, I shouldn’t have to sit there on my knees and stare at a piece of porcelain made for _humans_. But the pressure was getting ridiculously intolerable...

Later, when I was washing off the pristine white coffee cup in the sink, Dean noticed the wet stains covering the inside of my suit pants and the way my back hunched toward the sink, ashamed and humiliated.

He never made a single comment on it. He simply told me to take them off so he could wash them.

There are times that I am eternally grateful to have met Dean.

-Castiel

****

**Entry n.103**

**Date:** xx.xx 2013

 **Location:** Man of Letters’ bunker

 **Hour:** 23h04 p.m

I suppose I could say I’m familiar with eating, even though as an Angel eating was purely out of entertainment. There wasn’t any necessity to the action, no _need_ , no **_urge_**. The rumbling sound was new and scary. Sam suggested I “have a bite” - though I failed to understand what letting myself be bitten and hunger had in common.

We talked a lot about the different files he found this morning, some suggesting new ways of trapping angels, some that I knew would fail to work, and some that I had never heard of before. I didn’t even notice that Dean had left the map room. That is one of the things that could be labelled as ‘annoying’ about being a human. All your senses are dulled, so easily brushed off and easily discarded if your attention is held elsewhere.

It wasn’t until a pleasant smell found its way in the air that I had a small idea where exactly Dean went. Sam noticed it at the same time I did and told me he probably went to make something in the kitchen, with his newly-found passion for cooking.

He also told me Dean was “nesting”.

Dean considers this bunker as home now.

I couldn’t help but think “Where’s mine?”

When you are responsible for destroying the only place you’ve ever called home, I doubt anyone would feel deserving of one...

Dean came back with a plate filled with cheeseburgers.

I suppose indulging in this urge just this once was allowed. Jimmy would have approved, I’m sure of it. Dean’s expression at my approval of his food made the... it made _my_ heart twist in a weird way. I have yet to find if it’s a good sign or not.

The burger was delicious. I do not know how he knew that I don’t like tomatoes.

-Castiel

****

**Entry n.126**

**Date:** xx.xx 2013

 **Location:** Men of letters’ bunker

 **hour:** 4h30 a.m

The nightmares...

I shouldn’t have slept. I most definitely shouldn’t have, but the moment I sat on the bed, I was out. I guess this body isn’t mine to control anymore. I used to be able to order anything from it and now I can’t even control my own bladder or hypothalamus.

I could see them. The fire, their wings, their screams. How can humans support nightmares? I saw Dean’s own. I saw his pain, anger and fears. But seeing it and experiencing it are two very different things, as I’ve found out.

I should have remembered that Jimmy had Ulcerative Colitis. The pain was what woke me up. I went outside the room the Winchesters assigned for me and headed for the bathroom, where I knew painkiller resided.

I was very surprised to find Dean there though, he was hunched over the sink and drinking water from a glass. He saw me approach in the mirror but made no comment on it, only turned around slowly with a confused look. I told him my abdomen was in a lot of pain and that I required something to relieve myself from it.

To my deepest confusion, his expression turned into one of alarm. His eyes held some sort of secret that I will probably never know, but the way he got the bottle of Tylenol out of the medicine cabinet and only gave me two pills made it obvious that he was hiding something. Something that scared him. I remember asking him why I couldn’t keep the bottle in my bedside table for situations like these.

He only shook his head and told me he would be the one giving me any kind of medication. He is going to talk to Charlie about getting Jimmy’s medical record and prescriptions.

I was firmly warned to never, ever, use medication without him knowing.

It was all very confusing...

What are you hiding from me, Dean?

-Castiel

****

**Entry n. 149**

**Date:** xx.xx 2013

 **Location:** The map room.

 **Hour:** 10h21 a.m

Sam a décidé que le bunker avait besoin d’un certain réaménagement, les différents pièces ayant besoin de verdure. Je ne pouvais que me montré d’accord sur le sujet quand je voyais l’agencement de couleur qu’offrait le bunker. Le tout semblait articiel, sans vie. Dean prétendait que cela donnait un look beaucoup plus “ badass” au repère, mais considérant que le système d’aération datait d’une lointaine époque et que l’oxygène pouvait être plus frais qu’il ne l’était en ce moment , je devais me pencher du coté de Sam sur la question. Dean semblait détesté cela à chaque fois.

J’ai à peine touché au déjeuner et cela aussi semblait offusqué Dean. Il pouvait cuisiner comme un dieu , mais cela ne changeait pas le fait que je me refusais à devenir ce que je n’étais pas à la base...

J’ai du me résilié à dormir , c’était une des chose donc je ne pouvais arrêter de faire sans tomber inconscient. Il y a eu quelques accidents avec mes pantalons aussi... ( Dean a eu la gentillesse de laver le tout a chaque fois. ) mais après un moment je ne pouvais pas changer l’évidence que je devais allez à la selle quand c’était le moment.

Dean as réussi à contacter Charlie pour avoir les prescriptions d’Aziathioprine , de pantoprazole et de cortisone. De quoi m’aider avec cette foutu colite ulcéreuse.  Je n’arrive toujours pas à croire que je ne peux plus me guérir, quelque soit le petit problème.

Sam est revenu avec quelque plantes , donc un arbre qui portait le nom de “ Arbre d’argent” , prétextant qu’apparemment il porte bonheur coté monétaire bien que je doute de la véracité de tel propos.

oh.

damn.

My brain has more and more trouble operating with all the different languages my angel self knew.  The past becomes blurrier with the days, it’s like the antiquity era and everything before was a dream... I get small details here and there, but the overall picture is gone...

It seems like Jimmy’s brain can’t contain all the information an angel knows...

I can’t take this anymore... Sooner or later I will forget about my brothers and sisters, my time as Anna’s subordinate, Egypt’s bloodbath, Samandriel’s first flight, everything...

Alles vor dem Treffen Dean...

-Castiel

****

 

**Entry n.150**

**Date:** xx.xx 2013

 **Location:** Artifact Room

 **hour:** I don’t even remember...

Dean had a nap today. We had been up most of the night watching his favourite movies. When he finally woke up, he came to find Sam and I in the Artifact Room. While he was talking with us, he started to fiddle with one of the artifacts - a scimitar. Once I would have been able to tell exactly where and when it came from. Now it’s nothing but a weapon to me.

The only thing I deduced from it , was that it was sharp, judging by Dean’s insistence that I must NEVER touch it. He always seems to forget I was a warrior, with millenia more experience than he does. It is quite irritating at times.

Right now, I am sitting at one of the table adjacent to the shelves containing books about myrrh, bone ashes and other magical ingredients. They are quite worn out but the artifacts all seems in perfect conditions.

Why is no one taking care of books nowadays...?

Dean and Sam decided that having a fight in the middle of the room was a good idea. Dean has not forgotten that holding a very sharp scimitar may not be the brightest idea, so he changed his weapon for a leather wrapped police stick.

Sam will have the upper hand though, judging by the broken lance he is holding. He’ll have the longer reach.

I most definitely shouldn’t be writing this, but Dean shouldn’t be fighting in a bathrobe. It offers little to no pro-

...

... I knew it was a bad idea.

****

**Entry n.150.5**

**Date:** xx.xx 2013

 **Location:** Artifact Room

 **hour:** I still don’t remember...

I had to leave hastily. Sam and Dean were very confused by how quickly I left the room.

I... I have felt this sensation before and it was just as confusing then as it is now. The way my stomach feels tight - completely different from hunger. The way my mouth goes suddenly dry before filling with saliva. I’m not sure why it happened, or _why_ the chills that ran over my ribs and down my sides led straight to my...

Well.

The last time I had a reaction like this was while I was watching the Pizza Man.

But this is an entirely different situation... I wasn’t watching anything remotely similar to that video. Sam and Dean were fighting... sparring... It wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen them do before. But then Dean’s bathrobe had - it fell open.

Dean has taken to wearing that robe around the bunker recently - especially after he’s just woken up. And he has the unfortunate habit of - of not wearing anything except his underpants under it. It’s nice to see him relaxing enough to not sleep with his boots on and fully dressed.

I held Dean’s soul in my hand. I put his body back together from four months of grave rot, torn apart by hellhounds. I know what he looks like and I... Why did the flash of leg and stomach, and grey shorts... Why wasn’t I able to focus on anything else?

_I don’t understand._

And I am scared.

\- Castiel

****

**Entry n.153**

**Date:** xx.xx 2013

 **Location:** the shooting range

 **hour:** 3h45 p.m

Dean thought it may be necessary to show me how to shoot with a firearm, I appreciated the fact he wanted to teach me, but on the hand, if I learned anything today...

I don’t remember it...

The... pressure just got intolerable. He was close, he was warm. He was everything exactly like he was before and yet, pressed against my side, everything changed. Not a single physical sensation felt the same than when I was an angel.  

I feel like I don’t know anything anymore. It’s taking way too long for it to go away and while Dean never restrained himself from being close, I’m starting to think he may suspect it...

I refuse to do anything about _that_ urge. I’m an angel...

You are an angel, Cas. Never forget it. Repeat it just as often as you need to.

Maybe it will hold some truth again one day.

-Castiel

 

**Entry n.157**

**Date:** xx.xx 2013

 **Location:** the room assigned for me.

 **hour:** 0h00

I officially hate Wendigos.

Sam was still feeling ill from the trials, so he agreed that Dean and myself would go on that specific hunt together. Dean was hesitant to leave Sam alone, but agreed after letting him know he would be back soon, which was half-true.

The hunt didn’t take that much time.

The first-aid afterward did.

We were in the Impala after that Wendigo decided that trying to shred Dean’s inside was a good idea. (He told me I was getting better with the “sass”, whatever that means...) His legs were the only part the creature reached, but it was bad. Really bad.

Times like that are where I regret not being an Angel the most. Watching the blood soak into his pants, running along his thigh...

I also felt, and still do at this very moment, horrible for not being able to think of anything other than the feeling of his legs under my hands, the way I _wanted_ to touch, touch more than what was allowed. That pressure still hasn’t disappeared, and the sounds Dean let out as I was stitching the wound... My brain stopped as much as my breathing did. I was supposed to be worried over his well-being because it  was _Dean_ I was helping.

I really can’t stand being in such a state anymore.

I’m both a danger to myself and to others, but I refuse to yield. What would I become if I do? What would happen to Castiel, Angel of the Lord?

Father...

... I need help.

 **** -Castiel

 

**Entry n.157.2**

**Date:** xx.xx 2013

 **Location:** On the couch in the library.

 **hour:** 0h48 a.m

 **** I can do this...

 **** Tell me I can do this.

 **** I refuse to think that I can’t.

 **** You’re an Angel.

you’re an Angel.

You’re an Angel.

You’re an Angel.

You’re an Angel.

 **** -Castiel... or is it?

 

**Entry n.157.3**

**Date:** xx.xx 2013

 **Location:** you forgot your journal on that couch, Cas.

 **hour:** I don’t even care. Probably late.

 **** I’m going to your room, and I’m not going to knock.

 **** We need to talk.

 **** You better listen.

 **** \- Your Dean

****

 

* * *

 

The barely audible push of the door makes Castiel’s sweat covered head snap up. It is probably past 1 a.m and the brothers never were ones to disturb Cas’s negligible hours of sleep. When it is Dean’s face that greets him, Cas immediately sits up on his aqua-colored bed. Why is he here? What could Dean possibly want?

It isn’t until Castiel spots the book Dean is holding in his left hand that the color completely drains from his face, taking with it his pride and dignity. His blue eyes switch from the book to Dean’s face repeatedly, his eyes wide and his breathing short. Dean knows absolute mortification when he sees it and that’s exactly what he sees in Cas right now.

“You forgot this...” Dean’s voice is barely above a whisper. It’s something that Castiel fails to see whether it’s a good or bad sign.

“I... Dean, I’m...” His stuttering is met with a pair of green-eyes that are filled with determination. There is no disgust, no fear, no... anything really.

“You don’t have to explain, Cas. I get it.”

His answer is followed by a dip in the bed. Castiel hadn’t even realized Dean was moving to sit on the edge of the bed until he did, the book moving from his left hand to his right, and back.

There are many things that Castiel has difficulty understanding about Dean, but he also knows that the hunter isn’t known for his acceptance of people describing him as he did in the journal.

“Dean it wasn’t okay I... It was completely inappropriate of me and-”

His sentence is interrupted by a gesture of Dean’s right hand, a slight raise of it followed by the raise of one of his eyebrows. “That’s not what I meant. I mean that I get that you’re adjusting, that’s all. This is all so new to you. I mean, you basically just woke up one day feeling pain, hunger, having to remember to take a piss in the morning instead of just going on with your day and ignoring it. It’s probably _very_ different than what you’re used to. And I’m sorry to dump it on you like this, but having a boner is pretty much a part of all of this.”

Castiel expected anger and disgust, but he is instead met with acceptance and understanding. How have they changed over the years... or maybe it was just him who expects the worst of every situation.

“I want it gone. I don’t want this, Dean.” His hands fist the bed’s sheets, frustration finding it’s way out into a more physical manifestation. He’s tired of all this humanity trying to find it’s way in, trying to destroy everything that what was originally Castiel.

“Cas, the sooner you accept it, the better it will be. I promise you.” He puts the journal on the floor beside the bed, pushing it a little with his foot so that neither of them don’t accidentally step on it.

“What are you scared of? It isn’t painful or anything... the complete opposite, in fact.” The small chuckle he lets out at the end of the sentence isn’t missed by the angel and it just makes him squirm even more, his forehead covered in sweat and his breathing not slightly even in the least.

“This isn’t about physical sensation, but more about... destroying myself.”

The confused look Dean sends him isn’t missed.

“I am losing everything that was essentially me. I was an Angel, I would fight, I would smite, I would fly... Now, what am I, Dean? My existence was founded on the principle that I was an angel, now that all of this is destroyed... I refuse to lose myself, I refuse to just let myself change. I promised you I wouldn’t.”

Castiel finds out that it is hard to look at Dean while uttering those words.

“Giving into those _human_ urges... it’s like giving up everything that I am, that I was. It’s admitting defeat, admitting Metatron tricked me, that I lost, that I screwed up - again, and that I am a failure, as both an angel and as a human.”

There is no response from the hunter, he simply moves forward slightly. His right knee raises up on the bed to help him dip forward, closer to Castiel’s face.

“Cas, look, I should be the last person to ever give you lessons about self-worth or anything like it... But if there’s one thing that I know, it’s that no matter what you go through, no matter what may happen and what will, you’re still Cas.

“You’re the childish idiot who cares too much for everyone else, but not enough for himself. That you’re ready to die any day for something worthwhile. The son of a bitch who shed blood for me and Sam, and was - in the end - always doing the right thing.” He raises a hand to keep Cas from interrupting him. “I know you screw up, I know this doesn’t forgive anything you’ve done, but you’ll always be Castiel if you still have the heart to realize it and do everything that you can to fix things.

“That’s what makes you Castiel. It’s not you being an Angel, it’s not you smiting or stabbing things with your angel blade. It’s you loving everyone but yourself, just like I do... Which I should probably hit you for. Don’t do what I do. I set a really bad example for self-confidence...”

Castiel finds, at some point, that his mouth has dropped open, his eyes staring right back at Dean’s own without flinching. It is times like this that made the fallen angel realize all over again that Dean’s affection isn’t something you get, but something you earn. And if the newly human Cas can feel it, right now, in those words: surely he hasn’t failed as much as he thought he did. He is still Dean’s Castiel.   

“I... You...” The liquid that finds its way out of his tear ducts could be added to his list of new experiences. Dean only responds by getting closer and placing a hand on his knee, using it for leverage as he hunches closer.

Cas could swear, as cliché as the description coming from the rom-coms Sam insists that he watch, that he feels goosebumps and a strange kind of electricity run through his whole body with that hand at its epicenter. He tries moving the leg Dean is applying pressure to, but _another_ hand touches him and it’s just too _much_.

“You know, I’ve read some interesting things in that journal.” Dean gestures at the book on the floor and his smirk is completely unfair to Cas’s eyes.

“Bathrobe kink... who knew?”

Now the glare is on the angel’s side and the chuckle on Dean’s. That doesn’t encourage Dean to back away in the slightest. He only inches forward more until his face is mere centimeters away from Castiel’s.

“Does it feel bad, me touching you? Does it look like it’s tainting you?”

As much as the sentence seems like teasing, there is a look in the hunter’s eyes that searches for confirmation, a certain acceptance concerning the possible future outcome. Cas understands that Dean is still trying to make him understand that this change isn’t bad.

The hand on his right knee travels upward very slowly, torturingly slow. It isn’t a touch as much as it is a slight brush of skin on skin along the edge of his undershorts. It is a touch that hesitantly searches for any kind of reaction.

Everything is becoming much too hot and far too fast. The sweat covering Cas’s forehead is now rolling down his temples and the warm puffs of air that are blowing past his lips land on Dean’s face. He  doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“The sensations... aren’t bad. Just too much...” He’s squirming on the bed now, whether it’s to get away or get closer is still unclear to him.

The hands travelling the edges of the shorts get closer to that part of Castiel that has been overloaded with pressure for _weeks_. They arecaressing, hesitating, possibly teasing. Dean wants Castiel to make a move, to want this and not just lay back and take it.

He is still the one in charge, even though it’s the hunter who threw him head first into this situation. Castiel can still choose how to land. There are two very different roads to take from here.

It is after some minutes of slow, torturing caresses that Castiel looks at Dean and gives a very short, slow nod of his head. He is shaking and possibly frightened beyond belief, but if Dean is ready to catch him when he takes this leap, he’ll be okay. He can reassure himself of the fact that he has always come back to Dean no matter what has happened between them before.

Dean’s hands suddenly lift toward the waistband of Cas’s boxer shorts. They drag the dark blue garment downward as Dean leans in closer to Castiel’s face and he can’t help but notice that Dean’s lips are drawing nearer.

“You will always be Cas, no matter what happens tonight. Hold on to that thought and concentrate on these sensations. Don’t think about anything else.”

Lips meet his own at the same time that a hand wraps around that intolerable pressure from the past few weeks. It’s such a definite surprise that Cas lets out a loud, muffled sound. His chapped lips opening slightly and letting Dean find a better position for their mouths to fit together.

It is definitely too much.

Yet he doesn’t think it will ever be enough.

Both of his hands claw at Dean’s back, not knowing where to settle while the hunter’s hand moves up and down his erection at a deliriously slow pace, letting the newly human angel adapt to the rush of sensations.

It is hard for Castiel to find something to compare to the many sensations that the man, who is currently almost lying on him, makes him feel. There are none. All that he can muster in his mind at the moment is how it feels like his veins are on fire as his skin gets almost ridiculously warm.

Dean’s tongue caresses his own and it is incomparable to anything he’s known before. He used to be an angel, one that experienced so many things during his very long life. But never has he wanted anything as ardently as he _wants_ his hunter at this moment.

He feels fingers that rub at the head of cock, the sensation sharp and clearly more defined. It makes Cas’s hands grip the fabric of the bathrobe harder, almost ripping it. The liquid beading under Dean’s finger makes the rubbing easier with every passing second and it doesn’t take long before the mouth sealed over the green-eyed man’s needs to take some distance to pant loudly. He lets out a few whimpering sounds every now and then.

“Does this still feel wrong? Because it sure as hell doesn’t to me right now... I’ve wanted, Jesus I’ve wanted, to be able to do what I’m doing right now. I’ve wanted ‘Castiel the angel’ just as much as I want you right now, as a human. You’re Cas. That’s all that really matters.” The soft whispering echoes loudly around the weapon-ornamented room. Cas had taken a liking to doing things Dean’s way, something the ex-angel still hasn’t found out yet if it’s a good sign or not.

“Dean, p-please...” The soft sighs ghost over Dean’s lips as Castiel begs for something that he doesn’t know what for.

Dean grins against his mouth and he does something with his wrist, a quick twist that rubs over the head of Castiel’s erection. He presses the tip of a finger into the slit at the head of his penis and Castiel shouts. Within moments he is coming messily over his stomach and Dean’s hand as that pressure builds and finally breaks, shattering over Castiel in waves of pleasure that force his head back, his chest out.

His ears are ringing and his head feels like he was terribly wounded and lost so much blood when he knows it’s not the case. Cas sags to the bed, struggling to catch his breath. Dean’s grin is a bright, shining thing and he cleans his hand with a tissue from the box on his bedside table.

Castiel watches through hooded blue eyes as Dean uses another tissue to clean his stomach. Once Castiel is clean, Dean gently - reverently - pulls his underpants back up. He kisses Castiel again, lips brushing lips in soft touches.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Dean ask, rubbing their noses together in a surprisingly tender gesture, much to Cas’s surprise.

It takes Cas a few moments to regain a normal breathing pattern and his answer leaves his lips in a breathy whisper. “I suppose not, but you always... have this habit... of exceeding my... expectations.”

His hair is in a complete disarray as he looks at Dean with a mixture of both contentment and desire. Castiel can feel Dean’s own arousal pressing against his leg where Dean is laying against him.

He reaches for the knot in the belt of the robe Dean is wearing. “And now I would like to see the inside of that bathrobe from a closer perspective...”

If the bathrobe and the boxers that accompany it are unsalvageable by the morning, than it is nobody’s business but their own.

 

* * *

 

****

**Entry n.300**

**Date:** xx.xx 2014

 **Location:** Home

 **Hour:** 7h25

Today we finally got my identification. Dean said it was a surprise the whole time they were forging documents and I was banned from his “office” (his bedroom) while he was working on them.

I have a driver’s license but I don’t know how to drive. Dean promises to teach me - but not in the impala. I’m only allowed to sit in shotgun.

But that... That’s nothing compared to the documents Dean gave me.

Castiel Winchester.

Family - Dean and Sam - especially Dean - makes being human so much more tolerable... less terrifying. I don’t think I’m going to mind this as much as before anymore.

\- Castiel

****

**Entry n.301**

**Date:** xx.xx 2014

 **Location:** Home

 **Hour:** 8h33

You need to stop leaving your journal around. What if Sam found this thing? You’ve explained in detail that thing I do with my tongue that makes your toes curl. It would scar poor Sammy’s delicate mental state. Seriously - I’m awesome, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Also, pick up more lube the next time you’re at the store. We’re out.

\- Your Dean

p.s: ... I _need_ you.  


End file.
